


Hand in Hand

by irradiations



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irradiations/pseuds/irradiations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the world as we know it is under threat, it comes down to the Avengers and their Pokèmon to defend us all. But things on the Helicarrier are not what they seem, and there is another force at play in this war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Always Read The Small Print

**Author's Note:**

> In this universe, each person has one Pokèmon, like a daemon, who they generally have their entire lives.
> 
> For meta and art on this 'verse, see drbrucefuckingbanner.tumblr.com & viperf0x.tumblr.com.

Clint Barton was many things. Hawkeye was probably his best known moniker, but he had a reputation with the ladies to uphold, a razor sharp wit and an astonishing ability to sneak around unnoticed. His Pidgeot, Gigi, her sparkling, shiny feathers preened to perfection, had long learned how to move as quietly as her master, which was quite a feat for a five foot tall bird with talons like arrow heads.

As it was, that was how Clint managed to sneak into the meeting late and hardly be noticed. As it stood, however, he was far from the last person to arrive, as only Natasha, Steve, Maria and Fury were assembled - missing 3 Avengers team members and their pokémon. Thor was off-world, so his attendance was unlikely, but the other two were running exceptionally late.

“Good of you to join us,” Natasha purred to him, sliding a pack of paperwork over the desk to him. Amazingly, both Natasha and her Meinshao managed to have the same slightly disapproving look on their faces.

“I was occupied,” Clint shot back, opening the pack up and being faced with an image of the very staff that lived in his nightmares. He shuddered and skipped over it, glancing through the rest of the sheets to gauge what was in there. It was an incident report about the Chitauri attack on New York, highly detailed, and had a number for the damages attached to it. $9.8 billion dollars. Half the funding had come through Stark Industries, Clint noticed with a wry smile, thinking that at least now he knew the price of being an Avenger.

“Stark, you’re late.” Clint looked up as Fury spoke to see Tony Stark standing in the doorway, while Doctor... Banner? Banner scurried around him, Blissey in tow, and took the seat beside Clint.

“Is this free?” he asked, indicating where he was sitting.

“Sure doc,” Clint replied, pushing his pack of papers towards Bruce with a nod towards them. “Crib sheet for today.”

“Thanks. I thought we’d missed it,” Bruce said, putting his glasses on and peering absently at the folder. His Blissey hopped up onto the chair on his other side, and looked at the pile of papers as though she could read them. 

Clint glanced between Bruce and Tony. “You didn’t,” he said flatly, focusing on dismantling a biro he’d produced from his pocket, laying out all the components in order then reassembling it.

Bruce cocked his head to one side, confused. Had he... Done something? He glanced at Tony, who was baiting Steve by telling him about the building going on at Stark Tower, where they’d spent the last fortnight. It’d been fun, but Tony was hard work - Bruce felt more exhausted than he had when he’d left for some R&R. Tony needed permanent stimulation or he got bored, he couldn’t just sit and read a book or eat a meal, he was forever working, and his Rotom was little better. Bruce’s hand was still healing where the pokémon had possessed a stapler because it was bored senseless.

He didn’t have all that much time to dwell on Clint’s strange behaviour before Fury began speaking to the Avengers. ”Firstly, welcome back. Do we all know each other?” he asked, and there was a general consensus that yes, among the seven of them, everyone knew each other. “Good. I’ve convinced the World Security Council to continue my work on creating an initiative of extraordinary people, starting with all of you.”

“What about us ordinary people?” Tony’s remark was met with stony glares, so he retreated into his seat to pout and cross his arms. “Just saying.”

“The Avengers. It was a dream I shared with Phil Coulson, who I’m sure would have been thrilled to have seen you all returning to us here.” Fury glanced around the room carefully, judging reactions. Clint was focused on his pen repair, Bruce was reading, Tony looked asleep - in fact it seemed only Natasha, Maria and Steve were paying attention. Egos. Damn. “The Avengers will only be a useful force for good if they can work together.”

“We took out the only alien threat this year didn’t we?” Tony asked, sitting up like he had suddenly reanimated back into life. “That was pretty good. The shwarma particularly-”

“Yes, thank you Mr Stark. My point is, I need guarantees that you are all in this for the long haul, pokémon included,” Fury cut in, and his Liepard sat up from the corner she’d been occupying to look at them all disdainfully. 

There was a pause as all considered. It was a big step to take, to go from their old lives to being S.H.I.E.L.D operatives, living and working on a floating city and defending the Earth from alien threats, to give yourself over completely - and, to risk your partner pokémon in the bargain.

“I’m in, Director, Abel too,” Steve said, his hand going to ruffle the extensive ruff of fur on his Arcanine’s neck. “I’ve got nowhere better to be,” he added sadly, looking away from Fury as though he was seeing something that wasn’t there.

“Likewise. Bliss and I... You’ve given us both amnesty, so we’re staying, if you’ll have us,” Bruce stated, sounding grimly determined. There was nothing else out there for him; who in their right mind would hire The Incredible Hulk to run tests in their multi-million dollar lab?

“If Bruce is in, I’m in. I still want free rein to go back to Stark Tower, though, Fury. I’m not your pet,” Tony said after a long, drawn out pause, occupied mainly by him slipping his fingers through the ghostly stream left behind by his Rotom. 

Fury seemed pleased with their answers. “I’ll put it to the council. In the meantime, there are apartments set up for all three of you. Hill, if you would?”

Maria nodded and got to her feet, her Stoutland at her side, obedient as always. “Stark, you’re in west corridor apartment 471. Rogers, west corridor apartment 102. Banner, we put you nearest the lab and infirmary, so you’re in east 145.” She lifted her datapad and tapped away at it. “I’ve programmed the keycodes and I’ve sent the codes to your datapads for access. Don’t get lost.”

With that as their dismissal, Fury, Maria and their pokémon strode out of the door, Maria holding her datapad out for Fury to look at. It was going to take Bruce a very long time to get used to military folks again, their brusque, brisk manner alien to him even after his crash course when Loki had arrived. 

Bruce got up to move and was nearly bowled over by Clint pushing past him, Gigi in tow, Bruce catching hold of the back of his chair to prevent falling and flattening Bliss. “Hey! Are you okay?” he called after Clint, but the archer was gone before he’d even finished speaking. “Is he-” he started, directing the question at Natasha.

“Don’t open that can of worms, Doc. Might not like what’s inside,” she said, rising off her chair gracefully as a cat and stalking off down the corridor. She didn’t hurry to catch up to Clint; she knew him well enough to know when he was going through a rough patch, he needed time and space.

Bruce shook his head and padded off back to the hangar, where his two suitcases were still sitting from his return flight to the Helicarrier. He scooped them up, Bliss picking up a little bag she had all her knitting needles and wool in, then the odd couple began to head for the eastern corridors.His apartment was literally a minutes walk from the lab and the infirmary, and also had the benefit of being sandwiched between Maria Hill’s and Natasha Romanoff’s.

Well. Wonder why, he thought dryly as he keyed in the code he’d been sent and stepped into his first proper apartment for a decade. It was sparse - just a double bed with a bedside table and lamp, a shelving rack along one wall with hanging space and a desk with a chair up against the corridor wall. The door in the far left corner lead to the bathroom, which was a toilet, tiny shower and sink with a mirror over it, all laid out so when you sat on the toilet you could get your head in the sink and feet in the shower - cramped up all to hell.

Still, it was home. Bruce unpacked the few belongings he had, adding an extra pillow to the bed and tossing his shirts haphazardly into the wardrobe. Sometime soon he’d have to bite the bullet and invest in some more clothes. Some more everything. He didn’t even have a single photograph, or novel, aside from his beaten old copy of the collected works of JRR Tolkein, no trinkets at all. He had 12 shirts, four pairs of chinos, the shoes he had on and about a weeks worth of underwear to his name. Add in two physics books, his Tolkein book, a fountain pen, a spare pair of glasses (broken), a Moleskein notepad and half a scallop shell. 

42 years old and your life fits into a suitcase. He sat on the bed and pulled out the cellphone Tony had gifted him, along with the datapad he’d used earlier, tossing it on the bedside table with a sigh. How did everything get so complicated?


	2. Too Many Cooks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce starts to make some headway on finding out what the story is with Clint, but finds himself stuck in limbo trying to solve it.

It was frighteningly easy to slip into a routine on the helicarrier. Bruce usually roused at 8, showered, dressed and went for coffee before going to the lab with Bliss in tow. Lunch was midday for an hour, then he packed up and ate at 7 before sitting in his apartment and reading until 10, then he slept. Lather, rinse, repeat.

He had noticed the routines of other people on this strange boat of theirs. Tony’s routine never settled, he went from nocturnal to daylight living like his body had never heard of a circadian rhythm. Bruce became used to finding Tony in the lab at all hours, frequently with Steve in tow, and often wondered how he did it - he discovered it was a complex mixture of caffeine and cat naps.

Bruce made more of a point now to speak to Clint whenever he saw him. The archer was quiet and withdrawn at best, once nearly leaping out of his skin when Bruce wished him a good evening, leaving the doctor stunned in his wake as he legged it out of the refectory before another word could be spoken.

Bruce tried at length to pin Natasha down. They’d sparked up an unlikely friendship, aside from a permanent animosity between their pokémon, and Bruce frequently perched on the end of her desk with coffee and pastries, knowing she seldom paused in her tireless work. She’d taken on a large amount of the post-Chitauri paperwork, including claims from civilians for loss or damages which Stark Industries and the World Security Council had agreed to take on the cost for.

So, a week after returning back to the helicarrier, Bruce left Bliss in their apartment (it stopped the endless bickering between her and Natasha’s Meinshao) and, having made a pitstop in the refectory, wandered himself into the main offices and sitting on Natasha’s desk. “Brought coffee,” he said, placing down the cup made just the way she liked on a little knitted coaster Bliss had made.

Natasha arched an eyebrow up and eyed the cup. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, picking up the cup and sipping it. Her Meinshao came to stand beside her, then realised that Bliss was absent and slunk back to her bed.

“Can’t I bring you coffee and have it not mean anything?” Bruce replied, aiming solidly for innocent and missing by a foot or so.

“Doctor?” Natasha replied, and smiled up at him, a knowing smirk that told him the gig was, undeniably, up.

“Clint. What’s-”

Natasha stopped smiling abruptly. “I told you. Leave it alone.”

Bruce sighed and looked away, out through the panoramic window to see nothing but sky. He’d tried, really, he had, but there was just... _Something_ about Clint’s demeanour that bothered him. Bruce had done alone. It didn’t work; you ended up sitting in a dusty hovel of a hotel, having forced the one pokémon capable of living with you away, with a gun in your mouth ready to end it all. “Natasha, I’m not leaving this alone. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

Natasha seemed to be looking through him, working out his every thought. Bruce kept his face as impassive as he could manage, trying to be non-threatening - a state very easy for him to slip into. For some reason people seemed to think him incapable of doing anything but be nice, but that was a consideration for another day.

“Walk. Now.” Natasha got out of her wheeled chair, told her Meinshao to stay, then lead Bruce out of the office, taking him for a walk along the long main corridor which ran in an oblong across the whole ship. “Why’re you so worried, Doc? You’re not a shrink.”

Bruce shrugged. “I guess... I see a little of myself in him. I feel bad that he’s hurting and no one seems to care,” he said pointedly, Natasha pausing in her stride at that.

“Don’t say it like that. I care. I care a lot. But Bruce, honestly? Clint needs - _wants_ \- to be alone. He’ll figure it out.”

Bruce was a scientist, as dogged as they came. He was not giving this up. “Alone doesn’t work. And don’t say he’s got Gigi. Yeah, great, I had Bliss, and she was amazing, but it’s just not the same.” He stopped and turned back to look at her. “Pokémon can fix almost anything. _Almost_. But sometimes you need a person to come along and tell you it is all going to be okay. To listen.” 

Three agents walked passed, giving the both of them strange sideways looks. Bruce dropped his tone and closed the gap between them. “And if it’s not you, why not me? I’m a stranger. I’m impartial. I’m not a shrink.” He sighed, shoulders drooping a little in defeat. “Maybe you’re right-”

“I can’t tell you anything. It’s all in his personnel file, which is P&C, but he... How about I leave you to it, Doc?” Natasha sounded like the information was being dragged out of her, but there was a hint of relief about her, like she was glad someone else had spotted Clint’s behaviour and wanted to help him. “Go easy on him, alright?”

Bruce could’ve - no, wait he did grab Natasha in a hug and thanked her. “It might be he shuns me the way he has everyone else.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Oh Doctor, how little you know.” And with that, she was gone, leaving Bruce standing bedazzled in the corridor and hanging on her last words.

“Bruce!” The doctor nearly had a coronary, startling as Tony’s shiny Rotom appeared in front of him, closely followed by his owner. “Wow, jumpy much? Time to cut down the espressos?”

“How about you just stop sneaking up on me?” Bruce suggested, watching as Rotom fussed at his shirt pocket. He produced a Pokéblok and fed it to the pokémon, smiling as it whizzed up to the ceiling to eat. “That would work, too.”

“Meh. Not as much fun.” Tony went into his pocket and pulled out a lump of metal in a plastic clear tube, handing it to Bruce. “What d’you make of this?”

Bruce glanced at Tony, a quizzical look on his face. He pulled his glasses out from being tucked into the top of his shirt and put them on, examining the metal fragment carefully through the tubing. “It’s heavy, heavier than it should be for the size. It’s likely a composite, considering the lack of fragmentation and the sharper, straighter edges, so it shattered rather than sharding.” He went to take the lid off, but Tony stopped him.

“Don’t, it’s really sharp,” Tony told him, holding his hand up that was covered in numerous bandaids. “Like sharp sharp.”

Bruce shrugged and handed the tube back to Tony. “Where’d you find it?”

Tony smiled like the cat that got the canary. “Found it embedded in the glass of the wishbone. Ages ago, just after Loki’s party crashed and burned.” He took the tube from Bruce and pocketed it. “It’s been stuck in a drawer ever since, waiting for a little time to look at it.”

“And bleed on it.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’ll leave you to you deep, deep thought. And by the way, Natasha? Waaaaay out of your league.”

Bruce wondered if people leaving him standing agog in corridors was going to become part of his daily routine. He reluctantly decided that it was likely.

\------

“Agent Barton, we can tell you’re lying.” Clint hated her. Her voice, the feeling of her Alakazam poking around in his head. He wanted to lash out, but last time that... It hadn’t ended well. He balled his hands into fists and stubbornly stared at the floor.

“Not lying,” he said through gritted teeth, his hands cramping as he clenched them shut tight. He could feel her staring at him, her irritation at his refusal to speak obvious in her voice.

She sighed, taking her glasses off and setting them on the arm of her chair. “Stop,” she commanded, and the scraping, grinding sensation of having a pokémon in your head subsided. “Agent, you are going to have to talk to _someone_. Sometime. You can’t keep hiding from us. You have to face up to it sometime.”

Clint looked up at her. He’d give anything to reach over and hit her, just so she could know what it was like to be afraid, to be terrified, hurting, stuck, not understanding what was going on or why. Wipe that self-servicing, shit-eating look off her face. Show her what pity felt like. “Why.” He didn’t usually speak at all in these sessions, but this time he was just so angry at her he couldn’t keep quiet.

“If you want to go back into the field-”

“What? I need a fucking paper-pushing asshole to sign me off?” She visibly jumped. Doctor... Whatever-it-was. She looked scared. Clint was glad. He got up and she flinched away, cowering into the seat she sat in like she expected him to strike her. He turned away to stalk towards the door, sick and tired of her bullshit. 

“Same time on Friday, Agent.”

Her voice grated on his nerves. No matter what he said or did, Fury, or Maria, or whoever the hell else wanted to get involved would be there to drag him back to this pathetic little room and her horrifying presence. 

All he wanted was to be left alone. Was that really all that much to ask?

Clint sulked back to the little nest he’d created in an old, disused turret at the top of a gun tower, full of blankets and pillows and silent but for the low hum of the engines, a repetitive throb that blocked out the hurt in his head. He curled up beside Gigi, the only living thing he wanted to see right then, set the alarm on his watch for the meeting the next morning, and let himself drift into the half-sleep that marked the passage of time for him now.


	3. A Problem Shared is a Problem Halved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce finally gets Clint alone, and finds out that the problem is much worse than he imagined.

Bruce tried to formulate a plan for getting Clint alone. That was easier said than done; for one thing, Clint knew the Helicarrier better than Bruce ever could hope to, and for another, without a permanent role, he was frequently absent from a lot of meetings and had no main base. 

 

Fury called an all-staff meeting a week after Bruce and Natasha’s conversation, and Bruce made sure he was good and early, choosing a seat close to the door with one beside it. Most people avoided him anyway, so keeping the seat free was ridiculously easy, and when Clint walked in, Bruce waved him over. The archer hesitated, considering just walking back out, but took the seat, his Pidgeot settling beside him. “Figured you might be like me and want to make a quick escape at the end,” Bruce explained, smiling at Clint and handing him an agenda. “Looks like Fury is just catching us all up.”

 

Clint took the agenda and glanced through it, then nodded. “Thanks, Doc,” he replied, giving Bruce a slightly concerned look as though Bruce had gone crazy and just invited him to go snowboarding in the desert.

 

Bruce didn’t get much of a chance to say anything else before Fury stepped before the gathered S.H.I.E.L.D personnel and the Avengers team. Even the pokémon assembled fell silent, looking up at the Director and waiting for him to speak. He started with a list of the confirmed dead S.H.I.E.L.D agents, beginning the list with Phil Coulson and working his way through a list of twenty four additional names of people who’d died on the Helicarrier and the subsequent New York battle.

 

Both Bruce and Clint shifted awkwardly when the names were being read out. Directly or indirectly, both were responsible for at least some of those names being on that list. To Bruce they were just names, but he could tell by the look on Clint’s face that they were people he knew and remembered. 

 

Thankfully, Fury soon moved on to the list of agents now off active duty - and Clint’s name was top of that list. “These agents will soon return to their usual duties, they are undergoing a period of recuperation after the Chitauri incident. I hope to see them all back in post soon. We will need them.”

 

“The mess in New York is now, thanks to Agents Romanov and Hill’s work with their team, and the financial input from Mr Stark. We have a lot of alien tech to study, catalogue and store, which you will all receive information on in the coming hours if you work in departments which deal with these tasks. I remind you all that it is _alien_ technology, and to please follow all usual safety protocols when handling it.”

 

Bliss dug her paw into Bruce’s side and pointedly squeaked at him. Normally this would end in an argument, but the action sparked a smile on Clint’s face, fleeting yes but there, so Bruce let it ride. There was an unspoken promise of, ‘Oi, fluffball, I’ll get you for that later’, however, as he turned back to look at Fury.

 

“Lastly, there was an attack on a nuclear research facility last night.” The room positively twittered with comments, which Fury waited out before he continued. “There’s evidence to suggest that those who attempted to attack the facility were members of something called The Brotherhood. The attack didn’t end in any more than one security officer being minorly injured, but we all need to keep vigilant on this. Questions?”

 

“Director, The Brotherhood are mutants, aren’t there other people to deal with this?” one person called out, and Fury waved them aside.

 

“Not when they attack a nuclear research base run and operated by the World Security Council. That is just a little too close to home. Any other asinine comments I need to hear?” Silence descended, near deafening for how quickly it came on, and Fury abruptly turned and left the room, Liepard in tow.

 

Which was exactly what Clint did. He didn’t reckon on Bruce darting through the door behind him into the corridor, Bliss waddling along behind him and squeaking her displeasure. “Something I forgot, Doc?”

 

“I know you’re avoiding everyone, and I want to help you.”

 

Clint’s face darkened. “Mind your own goddamn business,” came his reply, and he turned on his heel and stormed away. His Pidgeot followed after shooting a loud hiss toward Bliss and Bruce, an action that had Bruce holding Bliss back from beating the bird senseless. Instead, he gave chase. 

 

“I’m not giving up on this.”

 

“I can tell. Gigi?” Gigi, the shiny Pidgeot at Clint’s side, turned as though to attack and received and egg to the face. Bliss then rugby tackled the pokémon back into walking along the corridor.

 

“Clint own up to this. We both screwed up and-”

 

“Doctor, please don’t make me hurt you to get you to leave this the hell alone.”

 

Bruce stopped. “I know you wont.” He sounded completely certain, and his tone made Clint pause and turn to look at him.

 

“You don’t know me. You don’t know _anything_.” And with that he turned back to his path and hurried off. Bliss wiped egg from Gigi’s face as the four of them walked, and Bruce started to wonder where the hell Clint was going when he vanished up a set of stairs, taking them two at a time then whistling for Gigi.

 

Bliss looked at Bruce as though to tell him not to go. “Bliss, I’ve come this far.” He knelt in front of her. “You remember that time, when I was... Really bad, in Kabul?” She nodded slowly, her eyes dropping as she remembered her fear and his despair, stepping closer to him for comfort. “You remember how much you wanted to help me?” Another nod. “I need you to feel like that for Clint right now. That’s how I feel. I want to help him. Because he shouldn’t be on his own with this burden on his shoulders. Okay?”

 

Bliss peeped, then took the stairs ahead of him, prepared for whatever was waiting at the top. She stalled in the upper doorway and squeaked in fear, and Bruce had to step around her to see what was going on. Clint was pointing a gun at the doorway, at about chest level. “I told you. Go. Away.”

 

“No.”

 

“I’ll shoot you. In the chest. Doctor, leave.”

 

Bruce put his hands up, swallowed hard, tugged his chinos out of Bliss’ tight grasp, and stepped into the room. He took three steps then paused, gauging Clint’s reaction. “I’ll do it. One more step.”

 

“If you wanted to shoot me you’d have done it,” Bruce replied, crossing the little room until the barrel was flat against his chest. “I’m not giving this up,” he repeated, holding Clint’s gaze for what seemed like minutes but surely was only moments, before the marksman pulled the gun away and tossed it aside. He crept into the furthest corner and sat down, curling up next to Gigi who formed a barrier between Bruce and Clint.

 

Bruce went to the corner nearest the stairwell and sat down, taking a moment then to look at the room they were in. It was some form of retired gun turret, with a wide panoramic window high up that filtered sunlight down, and evidence of a large gun mount having been affixed to the floor once upon a time. The floor itself was covered in bedding, like a giant nest, and there was a small fridge and a selection of clothes in a makeshift wardrobe against the wall to his left.

 

Bliss came and sat beside him, producing her little knitting bag and handing it to him. Bruce handed her her needles, wool and the scarf she was working on, then dug into the bottom where he’d stuffed pastries, sodas and his Lord of the Rings book earlier. “I brought food. You haven’t eaten today.”

 

“I have.”

 

“Yes. Tea and a banana are really filling.” Bruce pulled his glasses from his pocket, popped open a soda and settled in to read. As long as Clint could sit in the corner and pout, Bruce could sit in his corner and read. A waiting game between two of the most stubborn men the world had ever seen.

 

It took forty minutes before Clint’s resolve broke, and he crept out of his corner and peered around Gigi’s wing. Bruce kept reading, pointedly not looking over at Clint as the blonde crept closer, eventually settling just within reaching distance of the pastries and scooping one up. He wolfed it down and picked up a second, eating this one slower and seemingly enjoying it, then he plucked up the other can of soda and opened it, taking a long drag on it then finishing his pastry. “What’re you reading?”

 

Bruce glanced up. “Lord of the Rings. It’s the only book I own that isn’t about physics,” he said with a smile, pushing his glasses atop his head with his forefinger. “Feel better for the food?”

 

Clint blinked then nodded slowly. “Mhm,” he said softly, frowning down into his lap where his fingers were tangling together. “Why’re you here? If that goddamn psych set you on me I’ll-”

 

“Shoot her?” Bruce shook his head. “Clint, I’ve been the biggest destructive force in American for ten years. I know how much it hurts when your actions, even when you don’t have control of them, lead to people getting hurt, or worse. And this self-induced isolation? Doesn’t work. Please, believe me.”

 

Clint considers that for a long while. Bruce can hear the cogs ticking around in his head as he tries to work out what game Bruce could possibly be playing, then said, “This is better. For everyone.”

 

“No, it’s not.” Bruce sighed. “I’ll lay my cards out here. You’re young, and seeing you doing this to yourself? Upsets me. I want to help you. And I’m going to sit here until you figure out whether you want my help.”

 

Clint frowns harder. He can’t understand why this man, this complete stranger, would do this? Put himself directly at risk and for what? A broken little archer from Iowa who he barely knew. But there was something in those doe-brown eyes that made Clint trust Bruce, a gut instinct he’d long ago honed that told him it was okay to let the walls down an inch. Clint got up and fetched a large pillow, tossing it down in the space he’d just vacated, and curled up with it, calling Gigi over to join him. “I’ve not read Lord of the Rings in years,” he said quietly, with a little smile creeping over his face.

 

“I can read it to you, if you want?” Bruce offered, returning Clint’s smile. Clint nodded his agreement, settling into his pillow as Gigi fluffed up beside him. Bruce skipped back to the beginning of the book, and began reading. “When Mr Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton...”

 

Bruce read until Clint slept, then marked the page and pulled out his datapad to start working through his backlog of emails. Bliss dozed beside him, but Gigi stayed awake, keenly watching his every move, until the darkness caught her up and dragged her into sleep as well. 

 

Bruce was busily typing out a reply to a lengthy email from RnD when Clint started dreaming. Bruce lowered the datapad and watched, suddenly on high alert, his whole body tensing up as he watched and listened. Whatever Clint was dreaming about, it wasn’t good. Bruce crawled forward, leaving the datapad behind and knelt next to Clint’s sleeping form. He was coated in cool sweat and twitching and moving violently, making little noises of fear that sounded utterly heartbreaking. Bruce rested his hand against Clint’s shoulder and shook him gently, saying, “Hey, wake up, s’just a dream,” as he did so.

 

Clint roused with such a start he yelped, waking both pokémon and making Bruce jump out of his skin in turn. Clint rolled onto his back and sat up, curling around his bent knees and shaking, trying to get his breathing under control. Bruce moved up next to him and uncurled one of his hands, resting his fingers into Clint’s pulsepoint and counting mentally. “It’s okay, alright? You’re safe.”

 

Clint laughed bitterly. “Not when I’m asleep. Then I’m awake and there’s psychiatrists and paperwork and _pity_ and I hate it,” he said, the words tumbling from his lips in a long ranted stream. “I hate it. Everything is shit and _I hate it_.” He tugged his hand from Bruce’s grasp and curled it around his knees.

 

Bruce sat there, and silence flooded between them. He calculated, tried to think, then let instinct take over instead of common sense or science or anything else. He shuffled closer and gave Clint a hug, enveloping him and clutching him tightly. Clint didn’t move an inch for a few moments, then curled his hand around Bruce’s forearm and clung to him.

 

They sat like that for a while, just both sitting there, the comforter and comforted, revelling in the human contact of each other. “I’m scared,” Clint said quietly, breaking the silence.

 

“I know,” Bruce replied, matching tone and volume with Clint. “But you’re not on your own anymore.”


	4. A New Dawn, a New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the theft complete, what exactly are Magneto's plans with Bruce's personnel files? And what's Tony's sudden interest in Steve got to do with a pair of jeans?

Somewhere, a computer console beeped to itself. On the screen a warning flashed up, stating that unauthorised access to files stored on a secure hard drive had been registered. The man who should have seen the warning had a bullet in his head, a dead Hondour laying beside him, together until the end.

 

Mystique’s fingers clattered through the files. Considering the hold S.H.I.E.L.D has on the world, she found their security protocols painfully easy to crack, and sets the desired personnel file to download to a hard drive. Beside her, her Ditto rifled through the drawers, tracking down anything which might be useful, locating a few security passes and a pair of walkie-talkies and handing them to it’s master. She smiled, thanking the pokémon, and pulled the data stick out of the computer, her skin changing back into her cover - a fat, balding security guard, her Ditto transforming into a Growlithe and skipping along beside her.

 

Outside, John’s waiting in their borrowed SUV. “Did you get it?” he asked as she slid onto the passenger seat, the Growlithe hopping in beside her then taking it’s normal form.

 

She held the data stick up. “Of course. Anyone would think you doubted me, Pyro.”

 

“I wouldn’t be so brave,” he shot back, turning the car around across the road and heading for the building they’d set up their makeshift camp. It suits them, an abandoned warehouse, still plugged into the mains, but generally off the radar as far as most authorities were concerned. Magneto had made it plain that access to secure files needed to be done from outside the warehouse, as otherwise it would be far too easy for someone to track them down, but everything else was self-contained by the warehouse. “What was in the file?”

 

Mystique glanced at John, considering her answer carefully. The young man was smart, his power undoubtable, but she just didn’t trust him like Erik did. He clearly saw something in the kid that she couldn’t, but what it was was a mystery to her. “A S.H.I.E.L.D personnel file for some doctor,” she replied, her tone curt but polite. She’d hate to have to mess up John’s pretty face if she said too much.

 

John shrugged. He knew he wasn’t likely to be privvy to many, if any, plans that Magneto made, but his interest in what he was up to wouldn’t wane. Getting personnel files for doctors seemed too simple an answer, but he didn’t press the issue - Mystique didn’t hide her disdain for him, and John had seen too many bodies to push her too far.

 

He drove the SUV into the warehouse, parking up beside a small sports car that had been procured to provide a second vehicle, and hopping out behind Mystique. His Torchic ran to his side, her green bow bobbing in the dull light and a short flame on the tip of her breath, pleased to see him - she was the only one who was. 

 

Magneto took the data stick from Mystique, curling an arm around her blue waist and leading her away from the SUV. John knew better than to follow, so went to occupy himself elsewhere.

 

\---

 

“You’re sure it’s all in here?”

 

“If S.H.I.E.L.D are holding the information on him, it’s in that file.” Magneto seemed pleased with her reply, and Mystique settled into a plush chair opposite Magneto. His Magneton hummed into life, powering his laptop to keep it off the grid, and he plugged the data stick in, bringing the file up.

 

Doctor Robert Bruce Banner, alias ‘The Hulk’. The file flashed up, stuffed full of data, scientific reports, videos, images. Banner was average in almost every way aside from his intellect, until a split second accident with super-serum and radiation turned him into the most destructive force on Earth.

 

Hulk wasn’t what Magneto was interested in. Banners angry alter-ego would, potentially, cause problems if they were forced to fight him, but Magneto was interested in the man over the monster. In ordinary humans, the mutation rate is 1 in every 10 generations on one specific gene; Banner had mutated all of his genetics in one hit, enough for a few hundred thousand years of what nature could do.

 

And Magneto wanted him. “You did well, Mystique. I don’t think it will be long before Doctor Banner and I become much better acquainted.”

 

\------

 

Bruce startled awake, at first thoroughly confused as to where he was, then slowly, realisation crept back into his mind. He was curled up on his side, Bliss tucked into his back, and his hand resting on Clint’s shoulder, who was asleep beside him. The night before filtered in through his memories; getting up here, finally understanding what was driving Clint’s self-imposed separation from the rest of the crew. Clint breaking down totally, his walls down, letting Bruce in. The doctor sat up and rubbed his eyes, staring around the dull room and giving his mind time to rouse itself.

 

“It’s evening.” Clint’s voice had Bruce startled, nearly falling sideways over his Blissey in shock as she came awake and instantly struck a defensive pose. Clint sat up, curling in on himself around his knees and looking forlornly at the wall. “Can tell by the engines. You hear how quiet they are?”

 

Bruce went quiet and tried to listen. His mind, with the other guy in it, was too busy to head subtle things anymore. He shook his head sadly, feeling somewhat ashamed of that fact. Clint crept over to him until he knelt in front of him and took his hand, lowering it to a small area of open floor space so Bruce could feel the vibration from the engine. “They get quiet in the evening, to help people sleep.”

 

Bruce smiled; now he had the physical vibration of the sound to work off, he could hear the noise perfectly over the shouting in his head. “That’s amazing,” he said quietly, looking down at Clint’s and his hand interlaced on the floor.

 

“I can... Feel your heartbeat in your hand,” Clint whispers after a moment of quiet, lifting Bruce’s hand up so he can curl his fingers around Bruce’s wrist. He looked at Bruce, a little confused, then back at his wrist, where Bruce can nearly see his own pulse jumping. “Hulk?”

 

Bruce nodded. “Feel how warm I am?” Clint said that he could, his hands clammy and cold against Bruce’s arm. “That’s him, too. All side effects.” Clint let go abruptly enough that Bruce’s hand fell limp into the bedding, and he wondered what he’d said. That was answered soon enough - Clint crept around to sit next to him, worming his way under Bruce’s arm so as to cuddle up to him.

 

“I like it. It’s... Comforting,” Clint said decisively, smiling at how _alive_ Bruce felt all around him. “What... What are we doing?”

 

“We’re sitting here, and a friend is comforting another in need. A very persistent friend, who’s going to take the one needing comfort to get some proper food when he’s up to it,” Bruce replied carefully, curling his hand against Clint’s shoulder gently, almost tentatively.

 

Clint nodded against Bruce, feeling like a small child hiding under the wing of a pokémon all over again. “His friend would like that.”

 

\------

 

Tony Stark was bored. His self-proclaimed Science Boyfriend was on his own personal mission to get his rocks off on a Hawk, Ms Romanoff didn’t drop by any more, and Steve was relentlessly refusing to wear those oh-so-perfect black chinos that made his ass just that little more perfect. 

 

Rotom buzzed around the lab, possessing the odd object in an effort to make it’s master laugh. It was failing miserably, but it did try very hard, even possessing his cell phone and making it dance across the desk top to the Crazy Frog theme tune - usually a sure fire winner - failed to even raise a smile. So Rotom sank onto the desk looking equally as dejected as it’s owner. 

 

“Tony, I’ve been looking over these files-”

 

Tony near leapt from his seat as Steve walked in. Finally some- Are those jeans? _Jeans_. Damn. “They’re complete. Every bit of data on the Glowstick of Destiny.”

 

Steve raised an eyebrow as he wandered in closer, Abel by his side giving Rotom an eager look. “I appreciated the glossary of terms. Though, I didn’t need electricity or particles defined. We had those in the ‘40s.”

 

Tony didn’t even try to look sorry. “I just thought I should cover all the bases,” he replied, glancing Steve up and down.

 

Was... Captain America _sweating_?

 

“You know, just in case.” Steve put the folder down on the desk and came around the desk, watching Tony carefully.

 

“Just in case... What?” he asked, and Tony was overwhelmed with the hint he was being flirted with. In a fifth grade kind of way.

 

“Well, you know, you got... Lost.”

 

Steve smiled brightly at him and patted his shoulder. “And you’d be right there to guide me on home, yeah?” Tony returned the smile. “Sleep well, Mister Stark.” And with that, the beautiful piece of all American flawlessness was gone from Tony’s lab like a cloud on a sunny day.

 

Well shit. “Rotom. Go home. I have... To make a pit stop.” If a Rotom could roll its eyes it would have done, but acquiesced, whizzing through the wall back to their little box apartment without looking back. Tony followed, locking the lab behind him, but took his pit stop in the most deserted bathroom on the ship for a little recalibrating of his own.

 

Damn Steve Rogers, his smile, his attractive ass and those hands. Hands Tony very thoroughly fantasised were touching him all over as he dealt with a week’s pent up sexual frustration all by himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more Bruce/Clint, and the threat behind the scenes starts to grow.

If anyone ever asked Bruce if it rained in heaven, he’d say that he hoped it did. The little window in the wall of his box apartment was running alive with rivulets of water, trailing down the surface of the glass to rejoin the sea and start their journey all over again. The Helicarrier had dropped down to become a boat again for restocking, and if he moved from where he was sitting on the bed, he’d have been able to see the Pacific Ocean out of his window.

 

Bliss was sitting beside him, knitting needles in paws and clacking away with them. The purple wool she was using was balled on his lap, and he was idly straightening out the thread for her as she worked.

 

Gigi sat on the floor by the bathroom door. Bruce and Clint had had to practically bribe her to stay out of the bathroom so Clint could shower in relative peace. Bruce was taking it slowly, trying to help Clint without scaring him away, one step at a time. Take a shower, get into some clean clothes, then go and find food. He was fully expecting to be taking the food back to the nest, the cafeteria could be too loud, but that was okay. At least Clint was talking and coming out of that turret.

 

His door knocker sounded, and Bliss, Gigi and Bruce all exchanged looks. He didn’t ever get visitors - why, oh why, was the first caller arriving while he had a naked archer in his apartment? He went to the door and opened it, blocking Gigi from view by lounging against the door frame. It was Natasha, holding a stack of files, her Meinshao standing behind her. “Good evening, Doctor,” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

 

“You too. Are those from Tony?” he asked, and she nodded and handed them over. “Thanks, you really shouldn’t have.”

 

“No I know, but I wanted to... Drop by, check everything was okay,” she replied cagily. They both knew exactly where Clint was, but both skirted the issue and ploughed on as though they were both wholly unaware of the other’s knowledge.

 

“All fine, just going to grab some food then I’ll start working through these numbers,” Bruce said, a small smile on his face. 

 

“Be careful, Doctor,” Natasha told him, then turned on her heel and strode away up the corridor, Meinshao in tow. Bruce shut the door behind her and went back to where he’d been on the bed and started looking through the paperwork.

 

Clint appeared a few minutes later, dressed all in black and towelling through his hair. “Who was that?”

 

“Natasha, bringing me some homework courtesy of Tony,” Bruce replied, finishing the line he was reading then looking up. “Feel better for the shower?”

 

Clint smiled and nodded. “Those aren’t really showers though, more like port-a-loos with a faucet,” he said, hanging the towel over the bathroom door to dry then padding over to the desk and planting himself on the chair to put his boots on. “What’re the files about?”

 

“Ordinance and mapping algorithms for the Quinjets. They’re actually the algorithms for Tony’s suit, but we’re applying them to the Quinjets for better accuracy and pinpoint targeting procedures,” Bruce explained, adding, “But they need to run off Quinjet power, so we’ve had to adjust them. Tony’s got me proofreading, he’s really good at putting 8 when he means to write 6.”

 

Clint finished his laces then stood up and went to Gigi, stroking the bird’s feathers gently with a fond smile on his face. “Think I’m ready to eat now. D’you think the cafeteria will still be open?”

 

“Should be. Every night I end up working late they’re usually open, can’t imagine it’ll be any different tonight.” And of course by that Bruce meant ‘I basically don’t sleep so I’m awake to meet the night shift and usually the morning shift’. He had work, and work shut his brain up, so he worked himself to sleep. Not healthy, definitely not, but that was just how he was. “Even if they’re closed, I have dollars and they have vending machines.”

 

Clint laughed and nodded, and Bruce smiled knowingly, pleased he’d made the archer laugh. “Come on then, lazy bones,” he told Gigi, who stood and stretched her beautiful glistening wings out to either side of her and shook herself all over. She clamped herself to Clint’s side like a well trained sheepdog, and watched Bruce and Bliss carefully for any sudden moves.

 

The four of them walked to the cafeteria in companionable silence, the corridors basically deserted and devoid of life. The night time shift were busy with the restocking of the Helicarrier’s reserves and the day shift were asleep, leaving the ship free for those of the inhabitants who were neither night nor day shift. Like Avengers.

 

There was, thankfully, still food on offer in the cafeteria. Bruce sent Bliss to find a seat and fetch cutlery, while he, Clint and Gigi collected food for them all. Bruce made himself a coffee, then asked Clint what he drank. “Tea. Less caffeine, gives me the shakes,” was the reply. He made tea and two hot chocolates for the girls, then they picked out some more pastries and cakes before retreating to the table Bliss had sat on.

 

They tucked in, and it was a little while before Bruce spoke. “About last night,” he said quietly, knowing the subject needed to be broached. 

 

“I... You’re not leaving, are you?” Clint’s voice was full of doubt, and he looked at Bruce with that fearful, mistrustful look again.

 

“No, no I’m not, not if you don’t want me to,” Bruce insisted, his hand going to rest on Clint’s arm. “I’m staying. Okay?”

 

Clint nodded. “Good. I actually slept last- Uh, today. Haven’t since... Since Loki,” he explained, cupping the mug of tea in his hands and avoiding eye contact.

 

“Later. Tell me later, when we’re somewhere safer and quieter,” Bruce soothed, retreating his hand back to his lap and finishing his food. The cafeteria was hardly bustling, but the dozen or so people were very keenly watching the two Avengers with interest, and Bruce didn’t want whatever Clint was thinking about telling him to become public knowledge. People talked, he’d heard it and been the butt of it, and neither aspects were pleasant.

 

\------

 

Marcus Pritchard was a man proud of the work he was doing for the United States. Developing nuclear warheads which could hit at target at 4000 miles? A worthwhile business. It was all about deterrence, that was what the official line was, but he knew it was about war as well. You didn’t get to his position without making some of the hard decisions, after all.

 

Vandenburg Air Force Base had been his home for over a decade. He’d been there when they brought the big fusion reactor in, marvelling at the clean energy it provided, the Darmumakka by his side excitedly bouncing as they watched it coming in, the concrete surround building up around it day by day by clever contractors and heavy machinery. It was like watching a snail shell grow a layer at a time, and he loved his job.

 

So working late on a Friday night came with the territory. Mel, his wife, had been called, and the two kids had been bidden goodnight, Tom crying that Dad wasn’t ever home. Marcus explained that daddy’s work was important, and how vital nuclear warheads were, and didn’t he want daddy to be famous?

 

The family appeased, he settled in to watching reruns of 24 on the television and writing up the security report on the small incursion on the outer fence earlier that day. The reports were conflicting and confused, from the security guards and the security systems, and it took him a good hour to read through all the details enough to understand them and form a true report which covered everything.

 

The fence had been bent inwards, as though a giant hand had gripped it and bent each individual link of the fence backwards, roughly creating a gap of six feet square. Nothing taken, nothing but the fence damaged, but there had been reports of seeing a man in a lab coat wandering around the base. This, in and of itself, was peculiar - the scientists who were supposed to be there didn't wear their lab coats outside the buildings, for fear of contamination. In fact, no clothes were permitted to be worn from inside out for this very reason.

 

Marcus sighed, and finished his report before filing it and sending it to the relevant people. He paused, then went into his wallet and drew out a business card from a man he met at a conference once, and quickly sent the email to him, too.

\------

 

Maria Hill had fallen asleep on her computer keyboard again. Even when the computer beeped at her to announce a forwarded email from Phil Coulson's account had arrived she didn't stir, though her Stoutland did, enough to curl an eyebrow at the sound it made. 

The email was from a nobody at Vandenburg nuclear base, with a security report attached. When Maria did get around to reading it, she would forward it on like it was a hot potato, because she'd see it for what it was.

The beginning of the end of the world.


End file.
